Even so, with the subtle attention we’d been giving each other already, it was a short trip to outright flirting when bourbon fever kicked in.
Of course, the chances of spontaneous erotic combustion aren’t real high on a Tuesday night when there are kids and homework waiting at home.
The next morning, though, the flirting continued, and over the last few weeks it’s proceeded from there. From glances full of active curiosity to standing a bit too close in the elevator to letting our arms very, very carefully brush together while looking over a marketing plan draft, there’s been a slow burn that’s enjoyable just for its own sake.
At the same time, our conversation has gone from polite hellos to leaning into each other’s offices for a few minutes of casual conversation.
When it was clear that neither of us was likely to file a sexual harassment suit against the other, a few double entendres found their way into our interactions.
Two weeks ago, things escalated a little more.
I’m notorious for my potty mouth. Other work settings are different, I know, but in the loose, creative atmosphere of an advertising agency, you can get away with a lot, and I admit to being downright vulgar at times.
Several of my coworkers credit me with the invention of the term “fucking fucker,” but I’m pretty sure I actually heard it somewhere else first. That notwithstanding, I don’t hesitate to let a “Jesus-fucking-Christ, that’s the stupidest motherfucking-asshole-dumbass-motherfucker I’ve ever met” fly if the occasion warrants it.
To my delight, I found out that Lu was something of an artist in profanity herself. A tirade like the aforementioned one had exploded in a conference room full of equally irate copywriters, art directors, and producers when our latest pitch to a floundering client had been shot down. It continued with just Lu and me in my office as we went back to the brainstorming board. Since we were both still cussing up a storm, Lu closed the door behind us and flopped down in my guest chair.
“Lu, I gotta tell you, that kind of talk is frankly quite shocking,” I said in mock indignation.
“Stuff it, fucker; I know it turns you on,” she retorted. We both broke out in giggles worthy of my thirteen-year-old stepdaughter and her friends.
“Turned on? I’m turned on, she says, and meanwhile I see her nipples poking through her shirt like a couple of walnuts,” I said with a snicker.
“You don’t want to go bringing up nuts of any sort, buster, with that bulge staring me in the face,” she snorted, pointing at the very visible hard-on that was, in fact, at her eye level as I leaned back against my desk.
We kept this up playfully for a few more minutes before actually getting back to work, but from that moment on, dirty talk between us—in private, via text message, on the phone, even late at night at home through instant messaging—was not only tolerated, it was encouraged and one-upped and then pushed some more.
All that being said, Lu’s been rather adamant that flirting, talking dirty, and sharing fantasies is as far as this is going. That’s fine by me—one divorce is enough to last me a lifetime. More than anything, we both admit, our little oral affair has added fuel to pretty damn fiery sex lives at home.
Most guys don’t even count it as officially getting laid until you’ve told your buddy about it, and the fact that my buddy was now a gorgeous thirty-six-year-old wife and mother with a body like a coed, an intellect like a physics professor, and a mouth like a sailor was just icing on the cake. I told Lu about how good my wife looked when she sucked my cock in the shower the other morning; she told me about riding her husband’s face and licking her own juices off his chin and forehead. She picked out lingerie for my wife at Victoria’s Secret online and dictated more and more of the outrageous text messages she was sending to her husband while he worked.
With that in mind, I picked up the phone just after lunch this afternoon and dialed Lu’s extension.
“What now?” she answered huffily, and then chuckled. “What’s going through that dirty mind of yours, bad boy?”
“Not nearly what I wish was going through my pants—namely, your hands,” I said.
“That’s a stretch even for you, darling. We’re going to have work on your spontaneous sexy replies,” she said.
“Maybe so,” I replied. “But the reason I really called is to find out what your plans are to shock He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named later.”
“Lingerie.”
“Something new?” I asked, perking up.
“Something he hasn’t seen yet,” said Lu.
“And, much to my chagrin, neither have I,” I sighed.
This got another chuckle.
“And you won’t anytime soon,” said my partner in witty repartee.
“Soon? That implies that at some point your panties will be mine!”
“Dream on, lover,” she replied.
“So just what are you going to do with this lingerie for the lucky boy?”
“Before he leaves for his conference tomorrow, I’m going to put my sexiest panties in his briefcase…”
This elicited the usual intelligent reply from me: “Mmmmm.”
“… and when he lands in Denver, his little BlackBerry will chirp right away with the message that says I’m not going to wear any until he gets back next week—but that I packed a few dirty ones in his suitcase for him to stroke his cock with.”
“I like it, Lu.”
“Knew you would, bad boy, just like my husband will,” Lu said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “I especially like the thought that after that he’ll have to deal with a hard-on in a room full of other academics for the rest of the day.”
“I have a hard-on-in-the-office problem myself,” I told her.
“Why’s that?” she said almost shyly. “Is there a particular workmate who causes it?”
“Just some new bimbo.” I laughed.
“Bimbo! That’s it, I’m hanging up.” But she didn’t and then laughed with me.
“Send him a text now. Tell him you’re rubbing yourself under your desk.”
“I like it. Then what?”
“Imagine me there … under your desk … touching and licking.”
“You’re so naughty,” she said, but I knew she’d be doing it soon.
“I try to be,” I said smarmily.
“It’s working.”
“Good. When you have the picture in your mind, reach down under your desk. Rub yourself through your clothes.”
I heard her suck in her breath sharply, and I knew she’d started.
“I’m walking down,” I said, and hung up before she could protest.
By the time I got to her office, she’d zipped up and, though looking a bit flushed, was composed and professional.
She grinned and told me to close the door.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She suddenly looked a little serious.
“Cheryl or someone is going to catch us if we keep this up,” she said.
“Catch what?” I smiled and crossed to her desk. Resting on the edge, my crotch was just a couple of feet from her face as she remained seated.
“What am I going to do with you?” She grinned.
“Whatever you can think of,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows in my lousy Groucho impression.
“That sounds like it might be fun,” she said.
“Could be very fun,” I said, and offered her my hand.
She took it and stood, and with my knees parted slightly she had no choice but to position herself between them. She did, however, remain a good three feet away.
“But no kissing,” I chuckled, repeating the first law she’d laid down to me.
“You like kisses.” It was a statement, not a question, and I saw something in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“Yes, I do, Lu. Do you like kisses?”
“Yes,” she said very quietly, dropping her gaze from mine.
Taking a chance, I cupped her face and turned it upward, at the same time pullin
g her forward.
“What are we up to, Lu?”
“Well, I’m trying to get out of here to meet my kids before the school bus dumps them by the front door,” she said, still not pulling away.
I leaned in and whispered in her ear, knowing my breath was tickling her.
“Ahhh, I see. How about a kiss before you go?”
She hesitated for a second and then thrilled me by saying it.
“Okay—one kiss.”
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her tight enough for her to feel how hard I was.
“That feels nice,” Lu whispered.
“So will this,” I said, and I began to kiss her neck, her ears, her throat. I ran my hands up and down her back.
Her lips parted slightly, but before she could speak, I pulled her even tighter and covered her mouth with mine.
She shivered and began to rock slightly against my erection. She broke the kiss, but only to nibble my neck and earlobe, and I squeezed and kneaded the delectable ass that had first caught my eye.
Our mouths collided again in a hungry open-mouth kiss. Our tongues were dueling, sliding in and out of each other’s mouths, our breath ragged and coming in gasps.
With one hand still caressing her ass, I tangled the other in her hair. It’s a tired cliché, but I locked on to her mouth like a drowning man holds on to a life preserver.
“I’m in trouble—I’m on fire,” Lu whispered fiercely.
“And you have to go,” I said, and again covered her mouth with mine to block her answer.
The kiss lingered, but when it broke, we were both smiling.
“Go, Lu,” I said. “Be good.”
“How?” She laughed and pushed me away.
She pulled me close again, though, and I could see fire in her eyes as she stared up at me.
“See you tomorrow, Lu.”
“I know—and that’s the problem. I’ll be stuck here playing teasing games with you, and I won’t be getting any at home for the next seven days.” But she was still smiling as she watched me back toward the door and out of her office.
The real problem, though, was the call I got when I settled back in behind my desk. My wife’s cell phone came up on the caller ID.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?” I asked.
“Just wanted to remind you that I’m taking the kids to the beach for the weekend tomorrow.”
That was when it hit me. Lu’s husband was gone for a week. Me alone for the weekend—because Lu and I were working all weekend. With probably no one else in the office …
GUITAR FREAKOUT
J. M. Thompson
Sandy and Tammy could still hear the faint strains of the guitars on the beach as a few of their friends were butchering the Ventures’ “Walk Don’t Run.” They had done a decent job with “Pipeline,” but somehow without the beat of the drum driving the rhythm, they just weren’t making it happen.
“Do you think they know anything else, or will they keep killing that song?” Tammy asked.
“Yeah, it’s a real guitar freakout. Actually, I’m kind of glad they only know those two songs. I’d hate to see them destroy something really good like the Beach Boys or something.”
“Or a Paul Revere & the Raiders,” Tammy replied.
“Oh, you’re just nuts about Mark Lindsay.”
“What about Fang?”
“Oh, come on, Tammy. Fang just plays guitar, and I’ve see you drooling over Mark,” Sandy said.
“Yeah, he is dreamy, but guys aren’t like that. That’s why …” She didn’t finish.
Sitting down next to Tammy, Sandy put her arm around her friend. She wanted to finish what she had said but didn’t want to make things uncomfortable. They had seemed to be drawing closer and closer together as they watched their friends pair up into couples and start dating. Now, after wandering away from the group on the beach, they found themselves alone in one of the beach shacks the surfers often used.
Turning her head a bit, Sandy kissed Tammy on the cheek, and as her friend slowly turned her head too, they kissed, lightly at first, but then Sandy slipped her tongue into Tammy’s mouth. They had kissed before, but they had been quick kisses stolen in the moments when their other friends were looking away. Now they just kissed, both frightened but excited.
Sandy continued kissing Tammy, their tongues sliding between each other’s lips, while moving her hand up inside Tammy’s blouse. Sliding it up over top of her bathing suit, she squeezed lightly, and when Tammy didn’t pull away, she moved her hand under her friend’s top, feeling a nipple slide between her fingers.
“Should we be doing this?” Tammy asked. “They may come looking for us. I mean, the music stopped.”
“If the music stopped, then they are probably doing exactly what we’re doing.”
“What are we doing?”
“We are doing something that feels right. It feels right, doesn’t it?” Sandy asked.
“Yes,” Tammy answered, backing away from Sandy as she unbuttoned her blouse and then pulled off the top of her bathing suit. She paused, waiting for Sandy to do the same. Then they embraced, feeling their naked breasts brush against each other. Pulling apart, they playfully pushed out their breasts, touching nipples. Finally, Sandy leaned forward and slid her mouth over one of Tammy’s nipples, sucking it lightly while running the palm of her hand over her other one.
Tammy leaned back on the cot as Sandy remained on top of her, sucking and licking her nipples while moving her thigh between Tammy’s legs. Hearing her friend breathing heavily, Sandy continued, lightly squeezing Tammy’s breasts while moving her hips and grinding herself against Tammy’s thigh while she pushed her thigh against her. When Tammy lifted her hips, pushing back against Sandy, she quickened her pace, feeling the pleasure running through her body.
They continued grinding against each other as Sandy rose up and stared into her friend’s eyes. Somehow they both knew this was exactly what each wanted, exactly what they had been searching for throughout all those dates in high school, the seemingly pointless fumbling with the boys. Now, with both about to head off to college, they were discovering something, something they seemed to have been searching for for almost nineteen years.
Feeling the pleasure overtake her, Sandy moaned loudly and said, “Oh, Tammy,” as she came, pressing against her friend’s thigh.
Sandy stopped moving, but then Tammy pleaded, “Please don’t stop, I’m almost …”
Sandy pressed against her friend, leaning a bit on her thigh as she ground against her. Tammy responded by lifting her hips, actually raising Sandy off the cot a bit. Tammy then closed her eyes and fell back onto the cot, gasping. Opening her eyes, she grabbed her friend’s head and pulled it down to her, where they locked in a kiss.
After a few minutes, Tammy broke the silence, whispering, “Sandy, I didn’t know it could be like that.”
“I thought I knew what it would be like. I mean, I felt something with some of the boys when we messed around, but, well, this is so different.”
“I hear music,” Tammy suddenly said, sitting up straight.
“We’d better be getting back,” Sandy said, handing Tammy her top. “I can’t wait until next week. I’m going to miss you.”
“But I’ll be right there with you.”
“We’ll be together, but not like this, not like we want,” Sandy replied.
Touching her lover’s cheek, Tammy said, “Just be patient. One day, one day we will.” She leaned forward and kissed Sandy on the forehead. “We better get going.”
They both quickly pulled on their bikini tops and blouses and then peeked out of the shack. No one was around, so they slipped out the door and then walked back toward the group on the beach.
“They must have the radio on because that’s real music I hear,” Sandy said.
Wandering back into their group of friends, Sandy sat on the other side of the fire from Tammy. The others were all sitting together in couples, singing to the songs on the radio. Tammy h
eard it first, the chimes at the beginning of the song, and as the radio played “Cherish” by The Association, she looked over to Sandy.
Staring into each other’s eyes, they sang, “Cherish is the word I use to describe all the feelings that I have hiding here for you inside.”
MEMORY LANE
C. M. Bradley
It was a Thursday. I remember because it was the first day of the month. I received a call from my old girlfriend Tina. I called her T for short. It was a private joke because the first time I met her she was wearing a wet T-shirt with no bra. Yeah, I was in love. T was my first love. I was at the tender age of seventeen and a whole year older than her. We had lost our virginities to each other. Wow, that was a day to remember. She placed herself in my skillful hands since I was older and the male. Sure, as if I knew what I was doing. I was a graduate of BU (Bullshit University) with a master’s degree in gullible from listening to my freak friends, who obtained their unreliable information from older relatives. After countless days of dry humping and fumbling with each other, it finally happened. I felt like such a man. Despite ejaculating into a condom, it was the first time I had ejaculated with someone other than me in the room. I still remember her naked body as if it were yesterday. Damn, her ass always looked good.
Anyway, she called to inform me that she was going to be in my area for a business meeting and wanted to have dinner. Myriad emotions overcame me. It was all I could do to agree and get the date when she would be in town.
The day had finally arrived, and I was in the shower getting ready for the big event. It had been twenty years since we had seen each other. What would happen? How much had she changed? Would there still be a special bond between us? I had so many questions. As I stood there in front of the mirror drying myself, I looked at the changes that had occurred in me. An obvious one was the beer gut I had been perfecting. Another one was my incredibly shrinking penis. I remember how big both my heads got when T expressed fear after seeing my erect penis for the first time. The only emotion my penis could evoke now was laughter. I guess it wasn’t too bad when it was erect. Hell, now my ego was getting the better of me. In any event, what in the world would possess me to think I would have anything other than a delicious meal and good conversation? I put on my best “I’m still cool” clothes and headed to the restaurant.
Big Bad Ass Book of Sex Page 8
